Aftermath
by Brawler 1337
Summary: 37 years have passed since the Lucy incident in Kamakura. A new and very diverse species of Diclonius, called "Neoclonius," is slowly emerging. A new organization has taken the place of the Kakuzawa Institute. Our story begins with a young Neoclonius...
1. Chapter 1

**1**

The door of the C-130 Hercules transport aircraft opened. The salty smell of the ocean rushed into the vast cargo bay of the beastly machine. A squad of five armed troopers forced a naked slender man with shortish crimson hair out of the plane. After he stumbled off the loading ramp, the man shielded his eyes from the intense sunlight; he had spent most of the past seven years indoors, and while the compound he had stayed at was well lit, the artificial light simply could not compare to the sheer power of the sun.

Before the man stood a massive steel building—a complex that he would be contained in for however long the organization that owned it needed him to be there. It was an imposing structure that struck fear and awe into whoever gazed upon it. It was a compound similar to the one that the red-haired man had stayed in for the past seven years. The only difference was that he knew where the first compound was—somewhere around the coastline of America, for each year he had been allowed a few days outside of the building to unwind and get accustomed to culture there—while he had no idea where he was now. He knew he would find out soon enough, but that meant entering the compound, and even though he had been growing used to the way these people had been treating him, he dreaded facing the torture and testing that would surely fill up his daily schedule in the years to come.

"Come on! Move it!" said one of the man's armed escorts. He jabbed the man in the back with the muzzle of his M4A1 assault rifle. This caught the man off guard and caused him to stumble forward and fall flat on his face.

"That's enough!" another trooper shouted at the first one. "He's had enough for one day. He hasn't eaten since we left America."

"Yeah, asshole," said the unfortunate man, picking himself back up and dusting himself off. "Cut me a break, will ya?"

"Silence," a third trooper snapped. "You will speak only when necessary."

"Whatever happened to free speech?" said the crimson-haired prisoner, turning his head back in the direction of the complex. The next thing he knew, there was a sharp pain in the back of his head and he was falling to the ground. He hit the concrete with a dull and heavy _thud._ Though his head was ringing, he was able to turn his gaze upwards toward his assailant. The third trooper had smashed him with the butt of his M16.

"I said quiet!" the third escort barked. "Neoclonii have no rights!"

"You heard the man," said the second trooper—the one who had hazed the first trooper for his actions—to the third in a scolding manner. "He's having enough trouble as it is. Cut him a break."

"I'm glad you're on my side," the abused man said, getting back up once again.

"Shut up and keep moving," said the second trooper, giving the man a firm—but relatively gentle—nudge in the back with the barrel of his rifle. The man stumbled a bit, but remained in control of his balance.

_So much for cutting me a break,_ thought the redhead as he moved forward, receiving an occasional jab in the back to spur him onwards.

It must have been an hour later, though there were no clocks where the man was in the compound, so he couldn't be sure. He had been called down to a room where he would be registered in the building's computer network—the organization needed his information so they could perform the right "tests" on him. When he had gotten to the room, he was asked to sit down by a man working on a computer. This man wore small, horn-rimmed glasses and a neat white shirt, like any computer geek might. The red-haired man sat down soundlessly as the information specialist typed away.

"Kazuto Mishikawa?" the computer man droned in an almost monotone voice. He didn't even look away from the computer screen.

"You can just call me Kazuto," replied the crimson-haired man. "Given how long I've been in your so-called 'program,' you've taken away all need for me to use my family name."

"Whatever," he said as his fingers clacked away at the keyboard. "Age?"

"Twenty, I think," Kazuto said. "I can only be sure whenever they tell me it's my birthday. Not like they really care."

The man at the computer let out a short chuckle. Kazuto was shocked that the man could show any emotion at all. "Been in America a little too long, eh?" the man asked.

"Hmm?"

"Your accent?"

"I have an accent?" Kazuto asked to himself, primarily to hear his own voice. "Whoa, you're right! It does sound American." Even though Kazuto was born in Japan, he had spent so much time in America that he had nearly perfected his English speaking to the point that he sounded like an American. As a result, he now spoke Japanese with a thick American accent.

"You're a Neoclonius, right?" the information man inquired.

"That's what they keep calling me," Kazuto said with an air of scorn. "Just because I'm _different_ from other Diclonii." "Neoclonius" was a relatively new species classification that referred to individuals who possessed similarities to the evolutionary offshoot species of humans known as "Diclonius," but differed in terms of physical appearance and/or other properties. Kazuto, being a Neoclonius, was indeed very different from his Diclonius relatives. Instead of two triangular horn-like protrusions sticking out of his head, he had three: two placed above the ears, where they normally would be on a regular Diclonius (these were easily hidden by a hat or cap), and one shorter one in the center of his forehead, which he often covered up with a headband. Also, he did not have the invisible telekinetic arms—called "vectors" by this organization and other institutions that failed long ago—that normal Diclonii had: his entire body could act as one. Just by thinking, he could give any part of his body vector-like qualities, i.e. he could turn a limb nearly invisible, pass it through many solid objects, stop most bullets and tear people apart with it.

"I see," said the man with the horn-rimmed glasses after Kazuto had explained his abilities to him. "One moment please." _Just perfect, _thought Kazuto sarcastically. _All I have to do is __wait.__ Whoop-dee-freaking-doo._

"Done," said the computer man after a few minutes. "From now on, you will be registered as 'Number 42.' I understand your surrogate mother from America accompanied you on your trip here, yes?" Kazuto confirmed that. "Alright, then. You will be meeting with her shortly in your first test chamber. Your armed escort will be arriving momentarily."

"Just a second, sir," said Kazuto. "Do you mind telling me where this compound is located?"

"Japan, naturally," replied the computer man. "In fact, as I understand, we are in close vicinity to your hometown, is that correct?"

"_Kamakura!?"_ spat Kazuto in surprise. Memories began flooding back to him, including those of his Diclonius mother, of the friends he left behind, and of the great food that he loved his entire life. For once, he felt that there was hope in his life. He practically had to lock his hands onto his bare thighs to keep them from grabbing onto the collar of the registration man's crisp white shirt. "Is it possible for you to take me there sometime this week?"

"That is something you will have to ask your surrogate mother, and that she will have to discuss with her boss. Ah, here's your escort," the man said as three armed men walked into the room. "Good luck, Number 42."

"Yeah, right," Kazuto said as he stood up, ready to be taken by his train of guards. He knew that while these people may believe that sentence "good luck" meant something along the lines of "good luck bearing the pain of your next test." Or "good luck staying sane." It didn't much matter. The only thing about that statement that Kazuto was certain about was that it meant anything but "good luck."

"Move along," said the head guard with a jab of his gun. Kazuto was beginning to get used to this. But as he took his first step forward, a voice called out:

"Hold on, guards." It was the man at the computer again. Kazuto found it rude that the guy never took his eyes away from the screen.

"Yes?" asked the head guard.

"In my personal opinion, I think it is a little dangerous to be walking around with an apparently irritated man who can use his entire body as a vector," said the man in a very matter-of-fact manner. "He is liable to tear you all apart and escape, doing insurmountable damage to the facility, its subjects, and its staff."

"So what are you supposing we do?" asked the escort.

"Eliminate said hazard," he said indifferently without parting his eyes from the monitor.

The guard paced the room, clearly in deep thought. As he walked around the front of Kazuto, he stopped to speak. "You know what?" he said, looking Kazuto directly in the eye. "He's absolutely right."

The very next second, all Kazuto could feel was the sting of the butt of the guard's gun on his forehead. As he fell backwards, he felt another gun butt crash into his stomach. He cringed, and then was promptly smashed in the chin, sending him backwards onto the floor. His head was reeling, his view was blurred and he was vomiting blood, but he was still conscious. But one final, brutal kick in the cheek from another guard put his lights out. Everything faded to black.

_End of 1_


	2. Chapter 2

**2**

Kazuto was hungry. Ever since he had regained consciousness, all he had to eat was some bread. The testers said that he would be given more to eat later, but they also told him that it was critical that the tests be done now. Kazuto couldn't see why most of them were critical, but it wasn't like he really had the choice to argue—he was naked, and his arms and legs were secured against the cold metal wall of the test chamber by vector-proofed metal cuffs so that he was unable to escape.

Right now, they were testing his body vector's bullet-resisting properties. The test was simple: Kazuto would remain as he was while a soldier stood at the other end of the cell firing different types of bullets at him from assault rifles. This test was really the only one whose purpose Kazuto could understand: they were looking for the type of ammunition that they would use to kill him should he ever try to escape.

Kazuto withstood all of the bullets that had been shot at him so far, including all of the armor-piercing ammo—an unusual feat for a Diclonius, but not out of the range of possibility for a Neoclonius. They were currently testing .30-06 Springfield armor-piercing ammunition with an M1 Garand, an American World War II vintage semi-automatic rifle—Kazuto was surprised that they would even consider using that old beast. A laser sight was attached to the front of the gun so that the shooter could be sure that the round would strike in a non-lethal place if it did exceed Kazuto's ability to stop it harmlessly.

"Load up," said the organization official running the test. The soldier loaded an _en bloc_ clip with one .30-06 armor-piercing cartridge into his M1. Kazuto focused his vector abilities into his torso—there was no need to turn his arms or head invisible. The color of his body faded and then turned transparent. This is what the institute called "engaging vector mode."

"Fire." The soldier took aim at Kazuto's stomach and then pulled the trigger. _Crack!_ A faint _ping_ could also be heard from the gun, signifying that it was out of ammo.

Kazuto let out a short gasp of pain. The armor-piercing bullet struck him in the gut, but his body was still clear; the bullet did no harm to him. That's not to say that the shot did not hurt. Quite to the contrary, actually: it hurt like hell. The bullet dropped out from Kazuto's torso, falling to the ground with a tiny _clack clack clack._ Kazuto's body reappeared with a small bruise right where the bullet hit.

"Number 42's giving way," said the test operator, a lean man of around 37. "Shouldn't be much longer."

"Can't we take a break for, like, two minutes?" inquired the pained man.

"Sorry, Kazuto," said the female voice that belonged to Anna, his American surrogate mother. "My boss insists that this testing be done immediately."

"Why, Mother?" Kazuto asked, looking up towards the window at the other end of the room behind which the operator and she were standing. He vowed to reserve the name "Mom" for his real mother. "So my pain doesn't stop until I'm nearly killed?"

"I've learned not to ask," she replied. "Trust me, you'll be okay."

Kazuto sighed, looking up at the fluorescent light that illuminated the test chamber. No matter what time of the day it was, it shed its bright, cold light around the entire room. Everything in the room could be described by that one word: cold. The walls, the ceiling, the floor, the air: cold. The test supervisor and the soldier: cold. The organization's attitude towards its Diclonius and Neoclonius subjects: cold. Kazuto had had enough with this seven years' winter. He longed to return to the warmth of his home.

"Move up to the M1918 Browning Automatic Rifle," said the operator. "Fire a full clip of .30-06 Springfield armor-piercing rounds into Number 42."

_A full clip!?_ thought Kazuto in shock. He was well educated when it came to gun knowledge. The Browning Automatic Rifle, or BAR, was another American weapon used in World War II and other wars up until the 1960s. A full clip of a BAR contained twenty .30-06 cartridges. He was about to take twenty armor-piercing bullets straight to the chest!

The soldier went over to the rack of guns that he had brought into the chamber for this test and selected the BAR from among the various other types of ordinance. He loaded up the double-column box magazine with twenty rounds, inserted it into the weapon, and pulled back the spring-loaded bolt to cock the weapon. _Krik-chack!_

At this point, Kazuto began to wonder why these people were using so many American weapons. He could understand why his escorts from the American institution would carry US ordinance like M4s and M16s. But here in Japan, they were still shooting him with American guns. Hell, not just American guns_—World War II vintage American guns._ And a whole slew of them, for that matter (or so it seemed). By God, there was even a Thompson submachine gun and a Springfield bolt-action rifle on the rack that the shooter had pulled the BAR from! If Kazuto weren't in pain from hanging by his arms and legs for two hours (obviously, they wanted to drag out the time to test his endurance further), he would have cracked up. If these Japanese guys really wanted to use a World War II arsenal for these tests, then why were they so afraid to use more country-appropriate weapons? Why didn't they use old-time Japanese guns like the Arisaka or the Type 100? The only logical conclusion: this organization had to be based in America.

"Safety off," ordered the operator. The soldier did as he was told, flicking the selector lever from "S" ("safety") to "F" (single "fire") and finally to "A" ("automatic" fire). He flicked on the laser sight and took aim at Kazuto, who engaged his body's vector properties once again. "Open fire."

The BAR was a slow-firing weapon. Surely, that was not intended to be a part of this torture, but to Kazuto it made things all the worse: instead of having a bunch of bullets enter at once, he had to feel each individual bullet enter his body. All Kazuto could feel was the pain of one bullet after another striking his chest. Again, they were doing no harm, but the repeated hits could quite possibly knock his concentration off, thus cutting off his ability to give his torso vector properties and letting the rest of the bullets strike his body and do real damage. In short, they didn't; Kazuto made it through the test without sustaining any damage.

Kazuto let his body return to normal. All twenty rounds cascaded to the ground. It almost sounded like a brief rainstorm, if the raindrops were replaced with bits of metal. When color returned to Kazuto's body, he had twenty more small bruises on his chest. But that wasn't all: his nose and mouth were beginning to bleed. The strain of resisting the onslaught of bullets was becoming too great.

"Can we please stop?" Kazuto demanded, shedding a tear of blood. "This is going too far!"

"I agree, Mr. Yoshigawa," concurred Anna, "you should stop for a while. You're going to do serious damage to him if you continue."

"The point of this test, Miss Carpenter," responded Mr. Yoshigawa, the test operator, "is to have Number 42 sustain damage, not to get to the point where he is in _danger_ of taking damage." He shifted the wire-rimmed glasses set upon his nose a bit. "We must continue until he can't take any more. Move up to the Barrett M2043 high-powered assault rifle. Use one .50 BMG round."

Kazuto had never heard of this rifle before, but he was well aware of the ammunition it used. The .50 BMG was a bullet typically used in high-powered sniper rifles and machine guns. From the sound of it, Barrett Firearms Manufacturing, an American firearms developer that was well known for making .50 caliber sniper rifles, had designed an assault rifle that could harness the power of the .50 BMG for a handheld automatic weapon as well as a single-fire rifle. This next test would only use one round, but if that failed they would go to burst fire—if it had that feature—and then to full automatic fire. At that point, Kazuto would be on his last strands of sanity.

"No!" shouted Kazuto in a panic. "Please, stop! Mother, aren't you gonna to stop him?"

Anna remained silent. She looked as if she were about to shed a tear, but for some reason she was holding it back. She hung her head down. "As you will, Mr. Yoshigawa," she said gloomily. Yoshigawa ordered the trooper to continue.

"Wait, you're not actually _consenting_ to this bullshit, right? RIGHT?!"

The soldier grabbed a weapon off of the gun rack. For an assault rifle, it was huge. He loaded a single .50 caliber bullet into the weapon's huge box magazine. It looked like it could hold up to 20 rounds—a number that wasn't very much for an assault rifle, but the enemy wouldn't care because the shells it packed were .50 BMGs, and those bastards hurt like all hell. They also generated an enormous amount or recoil when fired, so a soldier's arm would probably be dislocated if Barrett had crammed any more bullets in there—though sustained fire of the thing in its current state would probably do serious damage anyways unless the shooter was a Mr. Universe bodybuilder. The bullet itself looked like greatly scaled-up version of the .30-06 rounds used earlier, and, like those bullets, this one was an armor-piercing round. It was a miniature missile.

"Oh, God, no! Have mercy, dammit! I'm cold and hungry and tired and I can't take this shit anymore!"

The soldier slammed the massive clip into the weapon, pulled back the firing pin, turned on the laser sight and took aim.

Kazuto was now in tears. "For Christ's sake, just stop!! Just two minutes, I beg of you! I'll do anything! Please! God fucking dammit, _STOP!!!!"_

"You will go through with this, Number 42," said Yoshigawa. "We have to do this testing now. If you keep refusing to engage vector mode, you will be shot and killed for insubordination. And this soldier here will not hesitate to go straight for the heart." As if to reinforce that point, the red dot to the left of Kazuto's heart quickly shifted to the center of his chest.

Kazuto's face was sore from the tears that continued to rain down from his eyes. He knew that he would be shot either way. He hung his head and moaned. He was torn: his mind desperately wanted him to die, but his body just didn't want to feel the pain of death. Eventually, he succumbed to his body's request. His body once again turned transparent. He put all of his energy and concentration into going into vector mode and stopping that bullet, though in his current condition he was not at all confident that it would be enough. Besides, what would he gain if he stopped that bullet? A chest-full of twenty more, that's what. Nevertheless, he closed his eyes and, filled with dread, awaited the shot.

"Safety off," ordered Yoshigawa. The shooter shifted his aim back to the left and switched the gun from safe mode to single-shot mode. "Fire." He squeezed the trigger. _Boom!_ roared the untamed monster.

_**"YAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAUGH!!"**_ The bullet struck Kazuto's body. He tried to resist it, but it was just too much. His body immediately turned back to normal and let the bullet through the skin, like a gate being smashed down by a battering ram. It pierced his flesh just to the left of his stomach, tore all the way through his rib cage, and made it out the other side, denting the steel wall behind and staining it with blood. The shot didn't kill him, but he now desperately wished that it had.

"That's enough," said Yoshigawa. "Pack up your weapons, soldier." The trooper did as he was told. As he walked towards his gun rack to unlock the wheels, Yoshigawa pressed a button. With a pop and a hiss, the cuffs clamping Kazuto to the wall released, allowing his body to slump face first onto the floor. As he lay there, a pool formed, fed by the tributary that was the river of blood flowing from his wound.

The heavy steel blast door slid open. Mr. Yoshigawa came in with a small syringe filled with a clear fluid. He turned Kazuto over as if he was handling an unfamiliar corpse, took up his left hand and inserted the needle. Kazuto looked up into his handler's face. Though his slick black hair and gray suit looked very professional, he could see nothing in him but the evil that he was ordered to do. _Uncaring son of a bitch,_ thought Kazuto. The operator gingerly depressed the plunger, as if he were performing some delicate biological experiment—one that didn't involve torturing a live sample.

"This needle has a strand of DNA from a Neoclonius like you, Number 42. Her body has regenerative properties, so this will help you recover from your injuries." In retrospect, Kazuto would rather have been executed. "It is only enough to help you in this one instance, but your wound will heal before the effects wear off." With that, he pulled the needle from Kazuto's arm and left without another word.

Next through the door was Anna. She came swiftly to Kazuto's side and took him up in her arms. _Even though she works for these monsters, she's very much like a mother,_ Kazuto thought as he looked up into her beautiful young face. He met her blue eyes with his red ones; her sorrowful, sympathetic gaze, partially hidden by a couple of locks of her long brown hair, was all that comforted him then. Though he was in a ghastly amount of pain, he managed to wrench a faint smile on his face. It was an infantile reaction, but he couldn't help it: this woman, no matter who she worked for or what she represented, had cared for him ever since she had been assigned to him when she was 24. She loved him almost as much as his own mother, and he returned that affection.

She brought her lips close to his ear. "I'm sorry they had to do this to you," she said in a low whisper. "I would've done everything in my power to stop him had I had the choice."

"So why didn't you?" Kazuto whispered—or, more aptly, groaned quietly—back.

"If I had made my intentions to stop the testing public, my boss would've killed me."

"But didn't you say that you wanted to stop the test earlier?"

"That was acceptable in the company's view. If I had persisted, though, he would have had me killed." Anna paused, and then brought her head closer. "Kazuto," she began again, "I don't know how much more of this I can take. You're the only son I have, and likely the only one I will have in my life."

"Don't sweat it. The time will be right to escape soon. I have a feeling."

"I hope so," she whispered. Tears came to her eyes. "This is becoming too much for me to bear." She looked over her shoulder. "I have to go. My boss is waiting for me." Then she held him tight and kissed him on the forehead, right on his third horn. "Hope you get better." At that, she left, hiding her tears to avoid getting killed.

Then two doctors came in rolling a stretcher. They lifted Kazuto's limp and bloody body off of the crimson-painted floor and propped him up on the bed. Their jobs done, they carted him out of the room, followed by the soldier and his rack of firepower. With that, the lights automatically shut off—someone would come to clean up the mess later.

_End of 2_


	3. Chapter 3

**3**

He lay in the infirmary for hours, waiting to recover from his severe injury. When he was first administered the shot, he had felt the pain begin to wane, but it took some time before the gaping hole actually started to close. During that time, all he had to stare at was white. The high white ceiling was brightly lit, just like everywhere else in the complex. Each one of the room's four metal walls was white. Each bed was dressed with plain white sheets, and each mattress felt the same—slightly more comfortable than a rock (only the emergency beds for the sickest patients were soft). Only the steel floor was not white; it was silvery. He had loads of time on his hands. In a matter of minutes, Kazuto drifted away to sleep.

That evening, Kazuto ate like a king. Though he was still in bed, the cooks came to the infirmary to serve him his meal. He was presented with tender, chopped beef cubes, a hearty side of sautéed broccoli, and some Japanese sodas—the kind that is sealed at the top by a marble. It was the hefty sort of meal that would normally be consumed by an American; of course, Kazuto _was_ practically half-American.

The only thing that Kazuto did not like about it was the type of meat that they used: it was high-grade Japanese meat, which meant that it contained a lot of fat. The fat gave the meat a soft, melty quality that he did not find appealing. He also did not like the taste of fat. He much preferred American beef, which was tougher and actually stayed together in his mouth. He could munch and tear at it and get satisfaction from it. Nevertheless, it was the best he had eaten the entire year. It was the best anyone in the facility had eaten the entire year.

Anna entered the room. There was something about her movements that just mesmerized Kazuto. Maybe it was how seamlessly they all flowed together; maybe it was simply the grace with which she moved. Kazuto wasn't sure. All he knew was this: if she hadn't been his surrogate mother, he would have asked her out on a date.

She sat down beside his bed. "How's the wound doing?" she asked.

"Never better, Mother," replied Kazuto. "In fact"—he lifted the sheets and took off the heavy bandages that had been applied to clot the blood—"it's already fully closed. I could take another one, if they need me to."

"That won't be necessary, Kazuto," she said comfortingly.

"Thank God," he said, relieved. "Does that mean that I'm done for the day?"

"Not necessarily," said Anna. "They might have one or two more tests waiting for you, but my boss says that they aren't critical; they can be put off until tomorrow. Either way, you will be heading back to the test chamber for the night."

"Yeah. You'd think they'd give me a more comfortable home."

"The organization isn't inclined to treat any one subject better than another in terms of housing. Each subject is given living conditions that suit the purposes that their program outlines; each individual Diclonius or Neoclonius is outfitted with conditions that satisfy the needs of the testers."

"Yeah, right," said Kazuto, knowing that the organization probably shortchanged all of its subjects regardless of the needs of the testing. "It's just unfortunate that most of the testers are really fucked up in the head." He noticed an ever-so-faint change in her expression—as noticeable as a fly on the wall—when he said the word "fuck." He didn't care; there was no better word to describe the men who worked for this corporation. "They think they're doing what's necessary, when it's really just plain awful." He took up a Japanese soda, tore off the plastic wrapping that secured the plastic opener to the top of the bottle, snapped the opener out of the plastic ring, seated it in the opening at the top of the bottle and popped the marble out with a firm push. "You know, I haven't had one of these things since I was a kid!" he said before taking a swig. His eyes widened with delight. "Damn. They're just as good as I remember them!"

Anna giggled, and then paused. She spoke again in a more solemn tone: "You know, Kazuto… about your desire to escape…"

"Are you sure you should be talking so loud about that?" Kazuto said as he laid his heads back down on the pillow.

"I'm sure. I asked them to turn off the cameras. I told them I wanted a little heart-to-heart chat with my son." She paused. "Kazuto, maybe you should reconsider escaping. It's just too risky. After all, look at what you've been given. These people do care about you… somewhat."

"Mother!" Kazuto exclaimed, sitting straight up. He looked as if she had said the most offensive thing in the world.

"Please, listen to me."

"No, you listen to _yourself,_ Mother," said Kazuto venomously. "You just sounded like one of _them._ You and I both know that these people could care less about us. You know what these people want: they want to break us, make us into weapons for the army. You also know that we are seldom selected to act as said weapons. Only a few of us get that privilege, and therefore gain better treatment. For those few, this is a training site; for the rest of us, this is a concentration camp!"

"Kazuto," Anna pushed on, "just hear me out."

He could not believe what he was hearing. "Who paid you to talk to me about this? Your boss?"

"Why would you suggest such a thing?" Anna said, incredulous.

"Because I know you know better," said Kazuto, lying down again. He could tell that her incredulity was feigned. She had always been a bad liar. "Two years ago, you came to my cell and talked to me, just as you are doing now. That day, you told me that you were worried about how the organization was treating me. You feared for my life—so much so that you recommended that I escape. Now you tell me _not_ to do it for exactly the same reason?" His throat was tightening with emotion. "You still remember that night, right? Look at me and say you do!"

Anna opened her mouth to speak, but remained silent. She was trapped by her knowledge of the truth: if she lied, her relationship with Kazuto would be compromised. "Yes, I remember."

"Good," said Kazuto. "At least I know you can still look me in the eye and tell the truth." He paused for a moment and then lifted his head off of the pillow once more. "Mother… do you still love me?"

"Yes." Anna said as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. "Of course I love you."

Kazuto brought her face even closer to his, his eyes pointed like lasers directly towards Anna's own. "Then you know that your son deserves better than this."

Anna just couldn't take it anymore; her surrogate son was too intelligent to have his mind changed—even by her. As Kazuto took another sip of his soda, she got up to leave, but stopped short of the door. She turned around. "Kazuto?"

"Yes, Mother?"

"You were right. My boss wanted me to do this. He's become suspicious of you." She walked back over to Kazuto's bedside. The worried expression remained plastered on her face. "But that doesn't mean that I don't have concerns of my own. I'm scared, Kazuto; these people will not hesitate to kill you on the spot. One misstep on your part and you will die."

"How's that different from any other day in this godforsaken place?" asked Kazuto rhetorically. "Besides, I don't care if I live or not: I'd rather be dead than be here."

Anna sighed. "I just hope you can escape soon."

Kazuto took another sip. "I hope so, too." With that, Anna left the room.

* * *

Several hours passed. Kazuto was back in his test chamber. He was still naked, and his skin was deathly cold. He sat on the floor, waiting for whatever was coming his way. He didn't care if it was a group of scientists ready to perform another experiment that invariably involved causing him more pain, or if it was Anna telling him that testing was done for the night and that he could go to sleep. Whatever it was, he welcomed it—he was bored to all hell. He had nothing to do, nothing to read, and nothing comfortable to sleep on. At least the floor had been cleaned of the blood that had been spilled on it earlier that day.

Finally, just as he was about to slip into an insane fit fueled by boredom, the alarm sounded. Shortly after that, Kazuto heard faint gunshots outside (even though the alarm was going off, Kazuto was able to tune it out). Immediately, he moved up to the wall closest to the hallway outside and put his ear against it. More gunshots ensued. They sounded like they were bullets of a low caliber—.223s and 9 mms, it seemed—so he figured that the organization had not issued all guards .50 caliber weapons yet. He could also tell that the guns they were shot from were off to the left, and since he could not hear any bullets wooshing past his wall (which he wasn't sure whether or not he could discern through the steel), he deduced that whomever the guards were shooting at was further down the hallway to the left. From the faint sound of the guard's footsteps, Kazuto deduced that they were coming towards his right—in other words, the guards were being forced down the hall towards his room by whomever it was that escaped. He heard the guards shouting, too. Most of it was muffled by the wall, but Kazuto worked it out the best he could.

"Subject 1 is headed our way!" he thought he heard one of them say. "She is armed!" _Subject 1?_ Kazuto had never heard of a Number 1—neither during his time in America nor in this facility. Then again, inmates did not normally get to know each other. The only inmate he really had a connection with was a very young Neoclonius girl—around five years old, by the sound of her voice—who had a cell next to his own back in America. She had been transferred to the Kamakura complex three years ago. Kazuto only knew she was here because he had managed to sneak a look at the registration official's computer earlier that day, and he saw her subject number, 64, and her name, Sasha, among a host of other subject numbers and information. Sasha was American, but she had said that her father was born and raised in Tokyo, so she knew how to speak Japanese as well as English. Some of her conversations with Kazuto had been in English, some in Japanese… Wait, why the hell was he thinking of her at a time like this?

The guards were now either directly in front of his cell wall or to the right of it. He heard gunshots come from the left—from the escapee—followed by a scream of pain right in front of his position. Another guard's footsteps rushed to the scream's location.

"Kurida's down! Kurida's down! Cover me!" The owner of the voice—the guard who had tended to the wounded guard—apparently drew a handgun, for Kazuto heard 9 mm shots from exactly where the voice was. "Shit! She's too clo-AAAAH!"

Kazuto heard a loud _bong_ as the escapee threw the guard against the wall (presumably with her vectors)—the same wall which his ear was against. This was followed by assault rifle shots—5.56x45mm NATO rounds, it sounded like—and a series of _pings_ as the bullets fired by Number 1 penetrated through the unfortunate guard's body and out the other side, hitting the wall behind. Kazuto didn't even bother to wonder why she didn't just tear him apart with her vectors, for this was just way too cool to ask such petty questions. Plus, this was just what he needed to escape.

"Mori!" said another guard, presumably referring to the second guard. Kazuto then heard the _sploosh_ of the guard being torn in half by Subject 1's vectors. The last thing Kazuto heard was the sound of the escapee running off to the right and out of hearing range. After that, all was quiet except for the alarm. Kazuto moved back to the rear wall.

A couple of minutes later, Anna entered the room. The look on her face told Kazuto that she wasn't fooling around.

"Let me guess," Kazuto said. "Diclonius/Neoclonius Number 1 has escaped and you need me to take her out."

"How did you know Number 1 was female?"

"I heard the guards just outside of here. They referred to Subject 1 as a 'she.' Before they got blown to bits, that is."

"Fair enough. She's headed towards the storage room towards the front of the building, where an old entrance used to be. It's not there anymore, but I guess she doesn't know that. That will be the perfect place for you to take her down."

"Good," said Kazuto. "By the way, I need a map to show me which walls I can't vector through, because I know you people reinforced the place when you heard I was coming here."

Anna handed him a thin, flexible blue screen. It had a top-down image of the complex on it, with all of the rooms identified. "The walls of this room and the other cells, as well as the outermost walls of this complex are vectorproof, so you can't vector through those. I've marked those walls out. You should have free reign over the rest of the building. In addition, I've marked the storage room, so you know where to go."

"Got it," acknowledged Kazuto.

Anna embraced Kazuto. "I'd recommend making a break for the hangar and snagging a chopper," she whispered into Kazuto's ear. "It's a long way to Kamakura, after all."

"Thank you, Mother," he whispered in reply, "for helping me out with this. I'll come back someday to get you out of here." He knew this was a long time coming. One day, two years ago, when Anna had recommended that he escape, Kazuto had worked out this plan: when an emergency arose, such as this very scenario, Anna would convince her superiors to let Kazuto take care of the job. She would come to him and explain the situation. Then, Kazuto would ask for a map, supposedly to outline the walls that he couldn't travel through, but really to find an exit. It was a simple escape plan that was clever enough to fool the security cameras… at least until the guards noticed that he was not heading for his target. Then things would get tricky.

Anna relinquished her grip on her surrogate son, shedding a single tear. "Good luck. Come back alive." She did not have to whisper this, for it sounded like she wanted him to come back alive from this mission. Kazuto understood the double entendre. He bode his mother farewell and began to walk out the door.

"Oh, and please put this on." She handed him a pair of underwear, long khaki cargo pants, a black short-sleeved shirt, and a brown jacket. "I thought that the pants would help you keep the map handy, but the other clothes are a gift from me. I figured you'd appreciate them after spending all that time nude."

"Thanks," said Kazuto as he took the clothes and started putting them on. When he had finished, he started walking out. He paused for a second. "Mother?" he said, standing in the doorframe.

"Yes?"

"Take care of Sasha for me, all right?" he said in a low voice, not really for any reason—the organization could care less about the inmates he was affiliated with.

"I'll see what I can do." With another farewell, Kazuto left.

He turned in the direction that would take him to the hangar bay, but he stopped._ Number 1 wants to escape, too,_ thought Kazuto. _Problem is, she thinks that the door is where the storage room is. She isn't going to find her way out without help. Who am I to deprive her of that help?_

Without another thought, he turned around and headed down the other way. Anna had just walked out of the test chamber, and she was startled to see Kazuto back so soon.

"What's wrong?" she asked quietly, just in case any security cameras were around. "The chopper hangar is that way." She indicated the direction with a subtle tilt of the head.

"Change of plans," said Kazuto. He continued on in the direction he was currently headed. He didn't explain his thoughts to her; that would just waste time, and the more time he spent with her, he presumed, the more suspicious the guards would become.

He checked the map and turned his body towards the storage room. He engaged vector mode, and then started running straight towards his target, passing through all walls (and occasionally some guards) that stood in his way. _This'll make escaping a helluva lot easier for Number 1,_ he thought as he passed, or "vectored," as he called it, through wall after wall. _That is, assuming I can transfer my vector powers to her somehow._

About halfway to his destination, Kazuto stopped, turned right, and started running down the hallway. He had a slight detour planned—one that he had planned only a couple of minutes prior. He moved on until he reached test chamber number 64. He brought his head close to the heavy steel door. "Sasha?"

He heard tiny, muffled footsteps shuffle closer to the other side of the door. "Kazuto?" a little girl's voice cried out.

"Wow, I can't believe you still remember my name. It's been so long."

"Silly Kazu," said Sasha. "Kazu" was her nickname for him—a nickname that Kazuto let no one else call him by. "I always think about you. You're my only friend."

"I'm flattered." Kazuto shed a tear. "Sasha, I can't talk long. I'm leaving."

"They're moving you?"

"Not exactly. Sasha, I may not come back for a long time. But rest assured, I'll be back to come get you. Until then, my mother will keep you company, okay?"

"No, don't go, Kazu!" Sasha cried loudly. "Please don't go!" Normally, Kazuto would've been worried about the volume of her outburst—it could have alerted the guards to his plans, since they give him any orders to "leave" somewhere. Thankfully, though, the security in Sasha's cell was slack; she was a good-natured child, and they felt that she had no desire to escape. There were no security cameras either inside or outside her cell.

"I'm sorry, Sasha," he said sympathetically, "but it's better this way. Trust me. I'll see you when I get back." Then he got up and left, his eyes flooded with tears. He imagined Sasha's eyes were exactly the same way. Regaining his composure, Kazuto engaged vector mode and started making his way towards his target again.

Soon, he stood in the doorway of the storage room. His head throbbed with the presence of his Diclonius adversary. Diclonii evolved with the ability to sense other Diclonii. Neoclonii shared this trait, although they gave off slightly different sensations than their Diclonius relatives, and each sensation was almost entirely unique to its respective owner. Diclonius sensations were also unique, but much less so than that of a Neoclonius. Also, Neoclonii tended to be more sensitive to individual variations in sensations than Diclonii. From the sensation, Kazuto could tell that his opponent was indeed a Diclonius rather than a Neoclonius, and that she was very powerful despite her evolutionary disadvantages. With this knowledge in his arsenal, Kazuto slowly made his way into the room.

"This doesn't make any sense," he heard Number 1 say to herself. Kazuto guessed that she was around his age. She had a young, soft voice. To Kazuto, the first word he could think of to describe it was "repenting," though he had no idea why he thought that. Kazuto also thought that, given the right thing to say, Number 1's voice could sound totally "badass." "I could've sworn that the entrance was right here."

"You didn't get the memo?" Kazuto teased.

"They sent you to kill me?" Number 1 asked, acknowledging his presence even though she had already known he was there.

"It's company policy." He creeped slowly through the maze of crates and containers that took up the entire room. To an outside viewer, it looked like he was trying to go for a surprise attack. He was really keeping a tally of the room's security cameras. Kazuto counted two. He wasn't sure of what he would do with that knowledge yet—he was making this up as he went along.

"Figures." Number 1's voice had been completely nonchalant so far. It was as if she wasn't at all surprised, as if she had been through this kind of situation before. "But you aren't going to take me down without a fight."

"Oh, I didn't plan on you giving me an easy time." He had to play along until he could neutralize the cameras. Then he could help this girl out.

At that moment, the crates to the side of him blew out, forced away by another crate that had been thrown at high speed. He dove out of the way, narrowly avoiding it. It slammed into the wall with a frightening amount of force. If it had hit him, it would have easily shattered his bones.

"Good," said the voice. "At least I'll have something fun to do while I figure out a way out of here." _So will I,_ thought Kazuto. "But why don't you just show yourself so we can do this the old fashioned way?" Number 1 added.

"Fair enough." Kazuto walked out from behind the crates and through the gap that the crate had left in the maze.

There, at the far side of the room, about ten feet from Kazuto, stood a young woman about Kazuto's age. She was holding an AK-47, and an MP5 and an M4 floated on either side of her—she was wielding them with her vectors. _Awesome,_ thought Kazuto. _I've never seen anyone triple-wield before._

She had long red hair and glaring red eyes that showed that she meant business. Like any Diclonius, she had two short, cat ear–like horns growing out of her head, just above her ears. She wore nothing but a bra and pantyhose—typical of inmates, since most tests were performed with the subject being either naked or, at best, scantily clad. Kazuto had no idea why that was important, but he never really gave it much thought anyways.

Her body was highly attractive. It was perfect in form, like that of a goddess. Her hips were so smoothly curved that they seemed to want a man's hand to grab hold of them...

But Kazuto didn't make many observations about her body; it was not this that attracted his attention. It was her face: he had seen it before. He had seen it in pictures on the walls of some rooms in the complex back in America; he had also seen it in the registration room here. The person in those pictures had short hair, but other than that the faces were identical. Those burning eyes, that thinly pointed chin, that small nose... they could only belong to one face. And that face had a name.

"Well, well. We finally meet face to face… Lucy."

_End of 3_


	4. Chapter 4

**4**

"What?" said the red-haired Diclonius woman, her three guns still poised to kill.

"Lucy," Kazuto responded plainly. "That is your name, right?"

"How do you know that?"

"Well, I figure you've gotta be pretty important—in either a good or bad way—to have your picture hung up in every one of these facilities."

Lucy was silent. She had no idea that she was really recognized by anyone anymore—not by what she had learned so far. She had been put away, like an old toy thrown away in a closet and forgotten—out of sight and out of mind.

"I can tell you're surprised," Kazuto said, reading Lucy's surprised expression like a book. "You're probably wondering why this organization—whatever it's called—would even care to acknowledge you. I dunno either, but just by looking at the pictures, I can think up of two captions: 'All hail,' or 'Beware.' Personally, I think the latter is more likely."

"DWEC," said Lucy, almost cutting Kazuto off.

"Huh?"

"DWEC," she repeated. "Diclonius Weaponization and Evolution Corporation. That's the name of this organization."

"How the hell did you figure _that _out?"

"I heard it from an official."

* * *

_Twenty minutes ago…_

She took in a huge breath, as if she had been brought up to the surface after a long time of being underwater. She felt faint: she had not the slightest idea of where she was, what time it was, or even which direction was up. She felt cold all over, and she could hardly see anything. She felt scared. She must have started to panic, because she heard a man's voice telling her to lie down and rest for a while, although she was so disoriented that she could barely hear the man. Without the slightest clue of what else to do, she obeyed.

Ten minutes passed. She was finally able to see clearly. She sat up and looked around. She was in a dull room with metal walls and a single door with a bulletproof glass window in it. She was sitting on some sort of hospital bed dressed in pale green sheets (she, on the other hand, was not dressed at all). A single fluorescent tube on the ceiling cast a cold unfeeling light around the room. On the left side of her bed was a longish table with all sorts of scientific and medical equipment on it. Among these instruments were stethoscopes, microscopes, scalpels, pens and pads of paper with illegible notes scrawled all over. Some of these tools were strapped down to the desk to prevent them from being used as weapons by unstable patients, but a few were left unsecured—someone must have been using them recently.

"Welcome back, Lucy," said a man's voice—the same one that had lulled her back to sleep. "Your vital signs have stabilized."

Lucy turned to look at the man. He was a thin 57-year-old man with short, neat black hair that was turning gray on the edges. He had narrow, deep-set blue-gray eyes, a neatly cleft chin, and well-defined cheekbones. His skin was a pale, ghostly white due to his lack of being outside. He looked like some sort of doctor—no doubt because of the long white lab coat he wore.

Lucy could not look at him long. Her head began to hurt, as if she were having a migraine. She leaned forward and cupped her hand over her forehead; her long red hair—though one might argue that it looked slightly pinkish—drooped over her shoulders, covering her unclothed breasts.

"Don't worry, Lucy," said the doctor. "Your head will undoubtedly hurt a little after thirty-six years in cryostasis."

Lucy's eyes immediately widened. _"Thirty-six years?"_ she blurted.

"Yes, indeed," said the doctor without much feeling. "We had to perform a few tests on you, but at the time we captured you, the technology we needed to perform them was a bit too young. Since then, we've been considerably successful."

She looked herself all over. She didn't _feel_ thirty-six years older. In fact, she didn't feel _any_ older.

"Give me a mirror," she ordered. The doctor complied, giving her a pocket mirror that he would use for certain cases. Lucy took it and observed the face that stared back at her: it didn't look any older than she remembered it. She patted all around her face, as if making sure that what she saw wasn't some sort of twisted illusion."Why aren't I older? It's been thirty-six years!"

"Well," explained the doctor, "cryostasis reduces your overall body temperature to a level where the cells reproduce more slowly. How old do your remember yourself being?"

"About nineteen," she answered.

"Well, congratulations," pronounced the doctor without much enthusiasm. "If my math is correct (which it usually is), you are now 21."

Lucy paused to collect herself. She had so many questions.

"Who the hell are you?" she asked sharply.

"You can call me Morinaga. I'm part of the Diclonius Weaponization and Evolution Corporation, or DWEC, for short. I'm sure you are familiar with organizations like us, though you might have forgotten about them over your long hibernation. But, I assure you, we are not like the Kakuzawa Institute in terms of brutality."

Lucy didn't need a polygraph to see right through the doctor's lie. She knew better than to trust companies that showed interest in her species: they only wanted the extinction of or domination over Diclonii. "Where am I?"

"You don't recognize it?" was Morinaga's reply. "According to the old reports I was given, you know it all too well."

She looked around, thinking about what Morinaga said. She gasped as the answer finally hit her: "The Kakuzawa Complex." At least, that's what she had learned to call it; she never learned the real name of the building—if it _had_ a name, that is. The only other name that Lucy could associate with the place was "Hell."

"So you do remember. I guess your memory isn't as compromised as I thought it would be. Thirty-six years is a long time to be frozen in a near-death state."

Lucy did not respond; she appeared deep in thought. Dr. Morinaga continued: "About those tests… I figured you'd like to know what we were doing to you. You are a very interesting case among your breed. Your DNA makes you the only Diclonius we know of that is capable of reproducing sexually with a human male; all others of your kind are sterile, only able to pass on their genes by transferring them to a human male by way of their vectors—often called 'transmitting the vector virus.' This much you know about your species. But, as we have discovered, your DNA is capable of doing much less selfish things than just allowing you to have sex with human men. You see, we have found that–"

"Where's Kouta?" Lucy murmured, almost incoherently.

"I beg your pardon?"

"Where is Kouta!"

* * *

"Whatever," said Kazuto. "That was a rhetorical question."

Lucy gave him a slight nod of acknowledgement. It was then that she noticed something odd. "What's with the extra horn?"

"You mean this?" Kazuto asked (again, rhetorically), pointing to the protrusion on his forehead. "That's nothing, really. I'm just different. Not all _that_ different, but different_._" He paused. "But why are we even talking? Aren't I supposed to be tearing you to shreds right now?"

"That's what I was wondering," responded Lucy. "Were you actually planning on doing that sometime today, or were you just going to stand around and talk?"

"Killing you _was_ part of the plan, but why don't I let _you_ make the first move? But, please, no guns. Those just take the fun out of everything, don't they?"

Lucy didn't hesitate to release her vectors' grasp on the M4 and the MP5. "Works for me," she said as she tossed away the AK-47 in her hands. With that, Lucy sent one of her now-freed vectors at Kazuto. Silent and invisible, it swiftly made its way towards his head, guided solely by her thoughts. It reached out to grab his face and tear it clean off his skull…

And then Kazuto snatched it out of the air with his right hand and forced it to the left; he didn't need to see it, for a Diclonius (or Neoclonius) can just tell where his or her adversary's vectors are—an evolutionary trait used for defense. Lucy was stunned. What he just did was impossible! She followed up with another vector, but Kazuto countered by drawing it to the right with his left hand.

_How is this possible?_ thought Lucy incredulously. _No person, human or Diclonius, can grab a vector with his bare hands! Unless…_ It was then that she actually got a good look at Kazuto's hands. They were transparent—not quite invisible, but pretty close to it. _Are his arms…?_ She prayed not. She lashed out with her remaining two vectors, hoping that the three-horned man would not be able to defend without releasing his grip on her other two vectors.

Without even blinking, Kazuto's hands released their hold on Lucy's vectors. But his arms did not move an inch; they _extended. _His arms quickly snaked around Lucy's trapped vectors, wrapping them as though they were two boa constrictors. Once they had wrapped themselves around three times, his hands continued to extend. This time, they shot out at Lucy's two free vectors. His fingers clamped down on the invisible arms with an iron grip and pulled them away, just like the other two.

"Bad Lucy," Kazuto said with an oddly playful air. He lifted his leg, which promptly turned transparent and shot out about a meter above Lucy's head. With a forceful movement, he swung his thigh downwards, and his outstretched leg quickly followed, cracking down on top of Lucy's skull like a whip and slamming her face-first on the steel floor.

Lucy attempted to get up, but just as she got herself upright she immediately fell over onto her back. Lifting her upper body off the ground with her hands, Lucy looked up in a daze at her adversary. Kazuto brought his foot back to its natural position, and color returned to both his arms and it. Brushing a couple of crimson locks of his short straight hair away from his eyes, he walked towards the discombobulated woman and squatted down in front of her.

"Like I told you…" said Kazuto as he touched a transparent finger to her face. He dragged it upwards a bit, leaving a shallow cut in her left cheek. _"… I'm different."_

_

* * *

_

"Who?" Morinaga asked Lucy, caught off guard by the outburst.

Lucy sighed. "Never mind."

How could the man have known? Kouta was no extraordinary person; he was just an average nineteen-year-old college student—though now, of course, he would have been much older. He did well in school, but that was hardly worth the attention of a company like this. The only thing that would have drawn DWEC's gaze toward him was his connection with Lucy: she and Kouta were friends when they were little. Lucy harbored strong feelings for the boy, who was the only person that didn't mistreat her because of her horns. But when Kouta lied to her about his cousin Yuka's gender (he told Lucy that Yuka was male to avoid hurting her feelings and making her jealous), Lucy, feeling betrayed, went on a killing spree. She later stowed away on the train that Kouta was leaving Kamakura on and killed his father and his little sister Kanae. This experience traumatized Kouta and led him to repress those memories for years to come.

Kouta was also involved in another incident with Lucy. Eight years after the deaths of his sister and father, Kouta and Yuka found Lucy on a beach, though at that time she was inhabited by an innocent and infantile personality—a personality later dubbed "Nyu." This personality split was caused by a .50 BMG round to Lucy's head when she escaped the Kakuzawa Complex. Kouta took her into the abandoned restaurant—the Maple Inn—that he called his home, not realizing that he was caring for the very woman who killed his family.

Lucy stopped reminiscing over the past. _Who cares anymore?_ thought Lucy. _It's been thirty-six years since I last saw Kouta. For all I know, he's probably married to that jealous bitch, Yuka. What hope do I have of regaining his love?_

"Well," said Morinaga, "if you're finished with your outbreak, then I think it's time we get down to bus-"

"Wait," Lucy interrupted. "There's someone else I wanted to know about. A Diclonius."

Those last two words caught the doctor's interest. "Who is it?"

Lucy dug deep to remember the identity of the person she was thinking of. Her name, her number, anything. She could remember nothing—only the fact that she was female and that she had become one of the few people Lucy could call a "friend." Her frustration over remembering was evident. She had her hand held up to her forehead, as if she had a headache. Every so often she would let out a strong breath that carried an air of irritation. Her frustration became more vocal as she started saying things to herself under her breath like "Dammit, who was she?" and "Come on, you _know_ this. Get a hold of yourself."

Eventually, the emptiness of her mind brought her to her metaphorical knees. "I'm sorry," she said to the doctor, "I don't remember."

Morinaga shrugged as he sat down in a chair next to Lucy's bed. "That's no big deal," he reassured her. "You don't have to. I'm amazed enough as it is."

"Amazed?" Lucy repeated.

"Well, consider the facts. Cryostasis is a young technology, even today. Back when you were first frozen, as the reports go, the devices that made the process theoretically safe were just developed: the technology was just barely into its infancy. You were really the first human—or, should I say, _humanoid_—subject to undergo the process. All things considered, it's a miracle that you even came out _alive._ What's more, when I was looking at your vitals a few minutes ago—before you were awake—I noticed that the state of your brain is actually very promising. Most of your memory cells are merely traumatized by the shock of coming out of the cryostasis pod, not damaged. With that in mind, you should start to regain some of your memories given enough time." Morinaga got up from his chair and walked over to a monitor that was showing an MRI scan of Lucy's brain. "There are a couple of areas that might take a week or so to recover fully, but your memory should make a quick recovery. That, by the way, is even more of a miracle than you coming out of that pod and living to tell the tale."

Then, an electronic _beep _was heard from Morinaga's right pocket. He reached in, took out a cell phone, and flipped it open. His expression tightened up a bit as he looked at the small screen—his eyes narrowed and his lips pressed themselves together. "Sorry," he said as he closed the phone and returned it to his pocket. Before, his voice had a hint of a friendly tone. Now he sounded more professional and more serious, as if his business mattered more than his patient. "That was just a text message from my superiors. They're waiting for us."

"For what?" Lucy asked.

"For testing, of course."

Lucy nearly hit herself. She almost forgot what organizations like DWEC did: test Diclonii under torturous conditions. They did this because they feared the Diclonius species. They saw Diclonii as enemies of mankind. In the past, Diclonii showed a tendency to attack only humans—they would not attack each other or other animals. Diclonius "research institutes" similar to DWEC were supposedly created to keep the Diclonius threat at bay and preserve humankind. Of course, these corporations were kept secret; if they were made public, certain individuals might question whether the research institutes were really protecting humanity. After all, it was equally likely that the institutes were inadvertently _causing _the Diclonii's hostility toward humans because of the way Diclonii were treated at the facilities.

"You should probably get up," said Morinaga. "We'll be leaving soon. Besides, I still don't know if your legs have fully recovered."

Lucy complied. She turned herself so that her legs hung over the left side of the bed and pushed herself off. She stumbled a bit, but she quickly recovered. It had been a long time since her legs had made contact with the ground, so she was understandably a little off-kilter. But she was able to stand just fine, and she could walk with very little trouble, too.

"Astounding!" Morinaga remarked. "Simply incredible! The effect of the extended cryostasis on your primary motor functions appears to be negligible! Remember, you spent close to forty years without walking."

"Yeah," Lucy said in reply, walking past him, "It is remarkable, isn't it?" Her surprise was feigned. She couldn't let this guy get on the better side of her. She couldn't let DWEC perform tests on her. To submit to the testing would be to give up freedom. Lucy's instincts told her that DWEC's tests were no less brutal than the Kakuzawa Institute's. She could not give them the chance to rob her of her freedom like she did the Kakuzawa Institute. She needed to avoid the testing.

She needed to escape.

"Here." Lucy turned around to see Morinaga holding a bra and panties. "Company policy discourages me from clothing you, but it's the best I can do to show a sense of decency."

Lucy initially looked confused, but she accepted the gift. _This man really is a pretty good guy,_ she thought as she put on the underwear. _Too bad I have to kill him._ She thanked Morinaga for his kindness.

Lucy began walking along the long table to the left side of her bed. She scanned her eyes across the equipment lying about on top of it. As she had noticed before, most of the tools were secured to the table, but some had been used, and so were loose. Luckily, one of the scalpels was among those tools. Perfect.

"What happened to my vectors?" she asked, partly because she noticed she couldn't use them, but primarily because she needed to distract Morinaga as she walked and ran her left hand across the table. She couldn't let him notice her pick up the loose scalpel; he would surely call security on her, and then her chances of escaping would be shot.

"Ah, yes!" Morinaga said. "I completely forgot about that. DWEC does not like its subjects having access to their vectors when they aren't necessary. It runs a great risk, a risk that DWEC would rather not take. Letting a Diclonius use her vectors freely allows her to cause incalculable damage to the facility. As a precaution, we inject our subjects with a serum that neutralizes their vectors temporarily. The effects can be reversed prematurely with an antidote which we keep in every test chamber. When we get to the designated test chamber, we will administer that antidote to you."

Lucy was not happy to hear that. She would have to conceal the scalpel all the way to the chamber. The chances of that happening unnoticed were slim to none. On the bright side, she did distract Morinaga long enough to drag her fingers across the table and grab the instrument. She turned around, casually dragging her hand (and the scalpel, hidden beneath her wrist and forearm) off the table and to her side.

"Are there any other doses of that serum outside of the test chambers?" she asked as she moved her arm a bit further around her hip and slipped the scalpel underneath the elastic of her panties. Thankfully, Morinaga hadn't given her a thong, so there was enough cloth to obscure the weapon-to-be. A keen eye might have noticed it, but Morinaga did not seem to be blessed so generously.

"Naturally," said Morinaga. "We have a stash of them here. We pack them in their syringes here in the labs. Where else did you think we would do that?" Then Morinaga's eyes widened a bit as he realized what he had just said. "I'm sorry," he said in a darker, more professional tone. "I shouldn't have told you that."

"That's okay, doctor," Lucy said reassuringly. "I won't tell anyone. Promise." Of course, that wouldn't matter in a few minutes. She took note of the double-doored cabinet on the other side of the room. It had a card-key lock on it. It didn't take a genius to figure it out: that was where the stash of antidote was. They might as well have put a huge neon sign pointing to it. Clearly, this room was not intended for housing Diclonii.

Another _beep._ Morinaga took out his phone again. "We must get going," he said hurriedly. "My superiors are starting to get angry."

"I'm ready when you are."

Morinaga headed to the door on the opposite wall from the foot of the bed. He punched in a numerical code. Lucy took note of it in case the door decided to close on her. 8-1-5-2-5-3-1-9-6-9. _Is there really a need to put a numerical lock on the __inside__ of a door?_ Lucy wondered. _Perhaps to keep Diclonii from getting out._

The door slid open. On the other side was the same stale white light that the fluorescent bulb cast inside the room. The outside hallways also had the same metal walls as the room. The only feature that the hall didn't have was the window: it was completely windowless, as far as Lucy could see. Now was the time. She slipped out the thin metal object from her panties.

Morinaga took one step before he felt his shoulder being jerked back by a hand. The next thing he knew, a scalpel had been driven directly into his jugular vein. In an attempt to make sure that Morinaga was dead, Lucy cut across his throat, causing it to bleed profusely. But that wasn't necessary. He was cold dead with the first stab.

Leaving the scalpel in the wound, Lucy searched the limp body for its card key. Once she had found it, she went over to the cabinet and swiped it. The lock within clicked, allowing Lucy to yank the doors open. She swiped a syringe, pulled the cap off with her teeth, jabbed the needle into a vein in her left arm and mashed the plunger down with unnecessary force.

Lucy grimaced. The antidote stung as it coursed through her blood vessels. It wasn't a crippling sting, but it was definitely unpleasant. She tried using her vectors, but still she received no response. Perhaps she grabbed the wrong syringe. Perhaps it just needed time to take effect. Either way, she couldn't head out into the facility unarmed. To make matters worse, an alarm started blaring. Figures: security had seen the killing on the cameras. Perhaps they didn't notice her pick up the scalpel in the first place, or maybe she was simply lucky, but now was probably the best time for the alarm to go off. Had it gone off before she killed Morinaga, she'd probably be locked in this room, awaiting execution. She went back over to Morinaga and wrenched the scalpel from his neck.

"Thank you for your kindness, doctor," she said coldly. She ran into the hallway and kept running, hoping she wouldn't get killed while her vectors recovered.

* * *

Lucy glared at Kazuto. "Don't touch me!" she shouted as she slapped Kazuto's hand away from her cheek. Using her vectors, she flung Kazuto across the room. He crashed into a stack of containers, knocking them over. Kazuto pushed two containers off of his body and picked himself up.

"O-_kay,"_ he mumbled to himself, "that was stupid. _That was stupi_—WHOA!" Lucy had thrown another steel container his way. Reacting quickly, Kazuto engaged vector mode and forced the incoming crate sideways with his hands while twisting clockwise. The combined forces sent the crate flying past just in front of his face, slamming into the wall behind with a eardrum-ringing _boom!_

Kazuto was hyperventilating. He had nearly been squashed to death by a flying crate not once, but _twice_ in the same day.

"Oh, come on!" Lucy taunted in a cool, understated, "badass" tone. "Take it like a man, will you?"

Kazuto did not have the patience to have his manhood be made fun of. Not at all. He tried to stay calm: he was there to help this poor woman, not kill her.

That was when inspiration hit him. He looked at the thrown crate, then at at the two security cameras—moving his head minimally while doing so in order to avoid betraying his intentions. Then he looked at the container again. _Bingo,_ he thought._ That kind of force could prove quite useful, if I can manipulate it right. _He knew exactly what he was going to do to destroy the cameras "by accident."

"'Take it like a man', you say?" said Kazuto semi-tauntingly and confidently. He clenched his fists and put them up in a combat stance. Now that he had a plan, he was ready to fight and, more importantly, to escape. _"I'd be more than happy to."_

_End of 4_


End file.
